If you'll be waiting
by TheMidoriFairy
Summary: Post-Reichenbach. The only way John can handle Sherlock's absence is by opening to his psychiatrist, while Sherlock is making silent promises to return. But it appears, once one has taken a different path, no matter how hard one tries, there's no finding one's way back to its original course. This fic was inspired to me by Tracy Chapman's "the Promise". Warning : Angst.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's note : Lately I have been listening to this song : watch?v=cQ0kh3k0LKE and this, well, it just kinda happened. This is the result of the inspiration I got from that song. I hope you'll like it, but in case you don't like to read sad fanfictions, I must warn you : this is NOT happy.  
For those who read my other Johnlock fanfiction (Us against the world), as I said before I considered making this story the end of the other one ; but surely once you read it there's no need to explain why I didn't do it in the end. _

* * *

_"Goodbye, John." _

_ "SHERLOCK, WAIT ! I L-"_

_ John Watson, former Army Doctor, felt his whole life falling apart as he watched the graceful body flying like a wingless angel to the hard, cold ground. Faithful reflection of his shattered heart, his whole body ached, as if broken : as, in the silence of his empty mind, he had heard the sound of Sherlock Holmes, falling to pieces, loud as thunder._

* * *

"Dear John." Sherlock striped the words. "John, _my_ John." Striped again. "I don't know what else to do but write to you since I can't actually talk to you anymore. I feel stupid, and I won't even be able to send it. It would be too dangerous, both for you and for me. I hope you'll be able to understand why I did what I did. I had no other choice. I needed to protect you. There's no point in what I'm doing right now. I shall not write to you again. It's useless. I just wanted you to know – but then again, you'll never know... I miss you so much. Please, forgive me."

* * *

_"Why today ?"_

_ "Do you want to hear me say it ?" John was facing his psychiatrist._

_ "Eighteen months since our last appointment."_

_ "Do you read the papers ?"_

_ "Sometimes."_

_ "And you watch telly. You know why I'm here." John paused. "I'm hear becau-" He couldn't go on._

_ "What happened, John ?"_

_"Sherl-" Silence. _

_ "You need to get it out."_

_ It took some time for John to speak again._

_ "My best friend... Sherlock Holmes -" His voice was no more than a whisper. "...is dead." _

_ "The stuff that you wanted to say. But didn't say it."_

_ "Yes."_

_ "Say it now."_

_ "No. Sorry. I can't."_

* * *

"It is now the seventh time that I write to you. I don't know why I keep doing that. I can't seem to stop. But I never send it, in the end. I guess I just want to feel like I'm talking to you. I wish you could answer. Your voice... how I miss hearing your voice..."

* * *

"I'm never hanging around in the same place for long. I have to move a lot. I could be discovered by the wrong people. Sometimes I imagine staying longer, and you coming to find me. But you wouldn't, would you ? You're not looking for me... I don't know what is the hardest part of it all. Being away from you, without any kind of contact – me writing to you several times a day doesn't count as a contact, since you can't read them and answer – or you, thinking that I am dead, that I am never coming back, and... I can't think of what you might do thinking you lost me forever. I can't accept it. Either idea is unbearable. I need to come back. I will.

I don't carry a lot of things on me, it would make it hard to move quickly. I just keep the letters I write to you, and the notes you sometimes left for me, back then, when you knew you wouldn't be home yet by the time I got back, and that picture of us I found in the newspapers. I feel silly holding on to all of that. It's not like me to do that, is it ? But it's all I have left of you for now. Of us. I hope you won't blame me for it. I just need to feel you as close to me as possible. And for now it's the closest you're gonna get."

* * *

"It's weird, the way I hope you'll answer me sometimes, as if you could somehow know that I keep writing to you a bunch of unsent letters. It's the twenty-fourth one, by the way. I feel dumb. You're the only one in the world to ever make me feel dumb. Even when you're not even here with me. I hate it. But I love it, too. I miss you."

* * *

_"You still can't say it, today ? After months ?" John silently shook his head. "Try explaining without saying it, then. Let's do this step by step."_

_"Fine. I'll give it a try. Sherlock and I... We told people we were flatmates. Colleagues. Friends. We were none of that. It was uh, something more. Something I can't really describe. He wasn't my boyfriend, per say. It was more than that, too. It took us some time to admit it. To acknowledge it. They were times I knew he was trying to say something but never found the courage to let it be known, and neither did I. He used to stare at me with those intense eyes, saying a million things, none of them I could get. I still don't. He wouldn't let me, at first. I'll never know the way he felt, exaclty ; and I'm not sure I know the way I feel myself. It's too... complicated. Immense. Those feelings, they didn't have - boundaries. They never stopped growing and I'll just never get it. But it was It. He was the one. I was the one. I'm not saying that because of some sort of – pride, that would make me want to be the one for him because of what he means to me. I mean, I want it, of course. But... though he never said, the – the words, he always found a way to let me know. And I knew. I never doubted it. He was the One, and I was the One."_

* * *

"John, I'm so sorry. This is taking longer than I thought. I never planned on being away so long. I thought I could just fix everything in no time and then return to you. It's just not safe being around me right now, and I don't want to ever put you in danger, ever again. I feared to lose you enough times now. But I'm worried about you. I wish I knew where you are. What you are doing. And who... who you're holding, who you're kissing. I selfishly hope the answer is "no one". It would be pretentious of me to think you're never going to meet anyone else because of your feelings for me, and that you'll hold on to the hope that I'll come back, instead, when you don't have a clue that I actually will ; but I do. With all my heart, I hope for it to be this way. The longer I am away, the more I fear that I will lose you, again, and forever. But I'll come back, John. I'll come back for you.

* * *

_ "And you, did you say the words ? Did you talk about it, sometimes ? Did he know ?"_

_"He uh, he knew, yes. Of course he knew. Sherlock knows – knew, everything. But we never talked about it, really. I never got to tell him. Never could. And I should've, I should have told him every single day since the very first day, since we met, since I crossed his eyes for the first time because I knew then, I knew already. And, now, he's gone. He's like, like a ghost, haunting me ; I can still feel him around me, somehow ; his presence surrounds me like some kind of shield, except it's what's inside the shield that is hurting me. I still hope that he's gonna come back, that it was just all a big... trick, and he's not – gone, and he will show up, someday, saying "John, I'm home" with that low voice of his. Look, I know it's stupid. I know I shouldn't. Hope. But I just – I miss him. With all my heart, I miss him."_

_ "Think about this. Wouldn't you be angry at him, if he came back ? Would you forgive him ?"_

_ "Let's admit that it's true – Sherlock wouldn't have done that for no reason. He wouldn't have left me unless he had no other choice."_

_ "This is not what I asked."_

_ "Please don't."_

_ "Don't do what, John ?"_

_ "Don't make me hope. I already do that enough myself, so don't support me down this path. Just... Don't make it look like it could happen. It can't. I know it can't."_

_ "I'm not trying to make you hope, I'm trying to make you realise that no matter what happens, you won't ever be able to forgive him for leaving you. Either it was in a definitive way or not."_

_ "Except I would. And I did, already."_

_ The psychiatrist looked at him right in the eyes. "Why ?"_

_ "Because – because he's everything to me. Was, he WAS everything to me." His eyes wandered on the floor. "There's nothing he could do that I wouldn't forgive. I don't know why he did that, why he had to hurt me so much, but it's just – I forgive him. If he had to, then – well, he had to. And, let's face it. I lost half – no, more than half ; I lost myself, all of it, when he... when he went away. If someone – anyone – could give me a chance to have it all back, who would I be to refuse it ?"_

* * *

"I've been dreaming of you again. Well, actually, "Remembering you during my sleep" would be more accurate. My mind doesn't make anything up, it reminds me of what I lost by showing me how happy we were, again, and again, before I left you, before I ran away like a coward instead of fighting at your side. I know this is not true, I know there was no other choice for me, and I did the right thing ; but I can't help it, I keep looking for a reason to blame myself for everything, because it would hurt less than just knowing I was helpless when you were in danger. And I just remember, all day long, and all night long, every bit of the time we spent together. I keep seeing that moment, when we let our feelings win over our brains, whenever I close my eyes ; that moment that changed my life. It's all still fresh in my memory. The look on your face, that light in your eyes that kept shining brighter. I never knew what beauty was before I saw your face at that very moment. It was all so... passionate. So full of desire that it was painful to even look at it. So certain that _I _was the only one you wanted ; the only one you'd ever want for the rest of your life. It's something I had never understood. Love. Depending on someone ; being _addicted_ to someone. I never felt that. I never needed that. Then I met you and you took my truth away. Everything I was, you replaced it, with the need of being with you each and every second of my life. And I was drowning in your eyes, that time, your deep, blue, sparkling eyes, and then you kissed me. I can't seem to be able to chase that picture away from my brain. It's not even a picture, actually ; it's a real sensation. I'm writing this, and I can almost feel your lips on me, the sweet warmth of your skin whenever you held me, the only body I ever wanted to be close to and never leave. My heartbeat, it is looking for itself now ; it can't find yours to beat with it. It has lost it, that natural pulse he had found from that moment on ; it remembers it in my dreams, when you just hold me in your arms, in the gentlest of embrace, the way you did the first time. And when I see myself lie down next to you, I always hope that some miracle will let me wake up to the sight of you next to me in the morning. But you're never here. I'm not alone, you know. It's worse. I'm without _you_."

* * *

_ "Tell me about those times you had together. Your best memories with him. What are they ?"_

_ "Best memories ? I don't have a best memory. With Sherlock, there's no such thing as a "best day I ever had" or "happiest I've ever been", no ; you live that every day. My best memory with Sherlock Holmes is every single second I got to spend with him."_

_ "You're getting closer to saying it. It's good. Then tell me anything in particular you can think about. The way he would let you know that he l- the way he felt, for example."_

_ "It's just – nobody ever knew about this. I already told you so much. I feel like I'm betraying him." _

_ "I understand that. But you have to know that I am only trying to make you feel better, and not keeping all of this for yourself is necessary." _

_ "I – I know. Well, it – it was little things, mostly. The way he would take care of me, and make sure that I never needed anything, that I was always fine, and stuff. Gestures, too. Body language. Like a look, a hand on my shoulder, a discrete caress on my hand. The way he would always wait for me to fall asleep before allowing himself to sleep as well, and his heartbeat pulsing along with mine, same peaceful pace. The tenderness of his embrace. The way he smiled, also. He didn't smile that often. Never to other people, except if it was irony. The "I feel superior – and I am" kinda smile. And he also had that proud and excited smile that he would wear when he was on a case and found a piece of evidence, or simply solved it."_

_ "What type of smile did you get, then ? Not one of them, I suppose ?"_

_ "I got the... the real ones. The ones that expressed actual happiness. The warm and tender ones. I was the only one that was allowed to see any emotion show on his face. The one that was allowed to see him express sentiment. I could feel from his gestures, from his touch, how dear I was to him. How... precious I was. It was... beautiful. I often felt like I was no one, in my life, but with every breath of his, he made me feel special. He made me feel alive."_

_ "You said "it was little things, mostly". Why mostly ?"_

_ "There was this time when... he gave me something. It was uh, it was not so long ago." _

_ "What was it ?" _

_ "A ring."_

* * *

"John, it's been so long, and I've been writing so much, I lost count of my letters. I think I've written over four hundred now. Maybe more. It's getting harder to keep it all with me. It's not like I couldn't throw away some of them ; I keep telling you the same things, over and over again. But I'm not ready to get rid of anything related to you. There's your name written on every one of them, and your name is something I particularly cherish. John. Please keep waiting. Please. I'm almost done. I'll come back when it's all over, I'll come back when I'm finally free ; I'll come back, if you'll be waiting. Please, do wait for me. If only you knew, John, how much I miss you. How much I long for you. I know you can't hear it. I know I never clearly told you. I tried to show you the best I could. I don't know what prevented me from just saying it ; screaming it, even. Letting everyone know ; letting you know. But I mean everything. I always meant everything. Sometimes, I wish my thoughts could reach you ; and I _pray_, I beg the _Lord_ to let you hear me. I _beg him_, John. Do wait for me, and remember. I promised."

* * *

_"Tell me about this ring. Was it an engagement ring ?"_

_ "No – of course not. Nothing like that. We never talked about something so er, official. It was just... He gave it to me as an anniversary present. I never thought he would remember something like that, the day we got together. I mean, I do remember it myself, but I felt like a dumb teenager to attach an importance to a date. And it's just not his style, usually. But he did remember. And he got me this ring. A simple, silver ring. He got one for himself, too. He er, he said it was a promise." _

_ "What kind of promise ?"_

_ "There were words. Engraved on the inside. His had different words, I'm sure it did. He never told me what was written on it, though." _

_ "What did they say ?"_

_ "I don't – I don't know what to think. He said this ring was for me to know that, no matter what happened, he'd always be with me, he'd never forget me, and he'd always... well, he didn't say, but I could read it in his eyes. He let me do it, sometimes. Know what he was thinking. But now that it all happened... I sometimes feel like he knew when he got it that he would go – but it doesn't make any sense, he can't come back, he can't -"_

_ "What did the words say, John ?"_

_ "I'll always find my way back to you."_

* * *

"John. I'm almost there. I can see the end of it, the end of it all – you, far away from me – this is all going to end. Just give me a little bit more time, a tiny, tiny bit, and I'll be home. Wherever you are, I'll find you. I promise."

* * *

_ "You're making improvements."_

_ "Yes, yes, I believe I am."_

_ "What happened today, John ? Something new came up into your life, am I right ?"_

_ "Indeed, you're right. I uh, I met someone."_

_ "It seems to hurt you."_

_ "It's still difficult for me not to think about Sherlock." _

_ "But you realised it. The truth." _

_ "Yes."_

_ "I would like you to say it, now." _

_ "Sherlock... Sherlock is never coming back. I have to learn how to live my life without him, without thinking about how what I do would hurt him, because he can't be hurt anymore. Sherlock Holmes, the man that I..." _

_ "Yes ?"_

_ "I still can't say that."_

_ "I thought so. Please, go on."_

_ "Sherlock Holmes is dead." _

_ "Now, tell me about that someone you met."_

_ "Yes, of course. It's er, it's a woman."_

_ "A woman ?"_

_ "Yes. She's lovely, really nice, and witty and everything. Quite pretty." _

_ "Do you like her ?"_

_ "Maybe. I don't know. I – it still hurts. I can't move on that quickly."_

_ "It's been more than two years." _

_ "I know. I know."_

* * *

_ "You're still seeing that woman, I see. Tell me about her. How do you feel ?"_

_ "I really like her. She's a wonderful person, really."_

_ "What do you mean by "really like" ? Are you dating her, then ?"_

_ "Yes, we've been dating for a few months, now. We're doing great. She's great." _

_ "Do you love her ?" _

_ "Define "Love" ?"_

_ "Do you feel the same way about her that you used to feel about Sherlock ?"_

_ "It's not – nothing compares to Sherlock. I'll never feel that way again, about anyone. I know that. I'm ready to settle for what I can have."_

* * *

"It never felt so long and heavy now that I know that the end is near. It will never be here soon enough. I'm afraid, now. I barely ever was in my life ; and I was never more so than I am, just now. What if – too many of that in my head. What if you never believe me ? Never forgive me ? What if you have forgotten me already ? Replaced me ? I was gone for too long, way too long, and I can feel the emptiness growing inside of me, as I miss you more and more each day. I always want you next to me, just here, by my side ; but never have I desired it more. Images keep coming back – clearer each time, as if I had lived it just yesterday, as if I was living it right now, even. Little nothings of our everyday life – you, waking up before me, making breakfast, and when I get up, you look up from the newspaper, and you smile at me, that wonderful smile that silently screamed the words I never heard you say to me – and how I've longed for those words – that smile, that was only for me, for me and no one else. Your support at every stupid and crazy thing I ever tried to do. The way you'd always stand up for me, no matter what. You and I, sitting on the couch, enjoying our everlasting evenings, the comfort of the feeling of your back against my side, your head resting on my shoulder. The beauty of your peaceful face when I watched you sleep for hours. The smell of you, the one I'd always smell when I burried my head against the skin of your neck, still fresh in the bed's covers. Every little bit of you, John – I miss it all. I need it all. I'm afraid that I won't ever have it again. That you moved on. But I'm also afraid that maybe, you feel the same as I do. This might scare me even more. I can't bear the thought of you feeling like someone tore a part of your heart, your soul – of yourself, really – away from you, that someone stole it and was never to return it ; the thought of you struggling with your nightmares again, alone, and lonely. I can only remember the look in your eyes when we met. Lost. You weren't yourself anymore. And not a single day has passed since I left where I didn't blame myself for throwing you back into it. But it was either this, or you dead – I can't even think of it. I can only hope you went through this all right, and promise once more, again and again, that I'll find my way back to you – I'll _always_ find my way back to you. But John, there's a condition to that. A single one. John, inside my ring, there are words, too. Words that say "If you'll be waiting." I need you to wait for me. Because, John – please, hear me, just hear what I'm about to say – I love you."

* * *

_ "I'm proud of you, John. You're doing great. But isn't it a bit inconsiderate ? You didn't fully recover, yet." _

_ "I'll be honest. I don't think I'll ever fully recover. I know it's not been very long since I've met her, at least not long enough for someone to do this – I mean, usually - but I feel like it's the best way to move on with my life."_

_ "Are you confident about what you are doing ?"_

_ "Yes. Yes, I am. I'm gonna do this. I'll always l- Sherlock is always gonna have a special place in my heart, but he's not here anymore. He never will be."_

_ "You really made a lot of progress lately. Apparently she does have a good influence on you."_

_ "I think she does, yes. I feel like this is the right time for me. If I don't do this now, I'll probably never get a chance again. Never give myself one."_

_ "I think you should say the words, now. It's not good for you to keep anything secret, you know it."_

_ "It's not a secret. You know what I mean."_

_ "It will always be one until you speak it out loud." _

_ "I can't. Not today. Please."_

* * *

"I did it. I'm coming home. I can't travel just right now. But I will ; I'll be on my way as soon as I possibly can. So I'll just write to you for now, one last time. Before I can return. It's been long, and it's been tideous, and it's been difficult and painful, but it's all been worth it. Worth you. I'm trying to figure out what to tell you when I see you. _When I see you_. It's as if I'm dreaming again, except, finally, I'm not. I'm not dreaming anymore. This is it, this is the time when I can have it all back, all those memories – real, once more, and forever. It seems clearer than ever – and yet, I know it's only faded souvenirs. Nothing compares to the real you, the real John, and the feeling of your presence near me, and your touch, and your kiss, your voice, and the look in your eyes, and you, only, fully, _you_. The one I've been waiting for. The one I'm coming back for. The One. My ring, it burns on my finger – _if you'll be waiting_. Please, John... say you waited for me."

* * *

John is sitting at a small table in a fancy restaurant. Facing him is a beautiful lady. Sherlock doesn't mind her at first ; she can't be his date. She can't. But she smiles. She takes his hand. He caresses her fingers ; he smiles back. Something close to the smile Sherlock knows so well. The one you can feel even in his eyes. The one that says so much. Too much. Way, way too close to_ that_ smile. But there's a glint of light on his hand. That, Sherlock knows very well, too. A small ring, simple, silver ring, shining brightly in the light. He breathes, a sigh of deep relief ; he's about to step up, finally, to come into the light, to say "I found my way back to you, John. I did." But he stops. John kneels in front of the woman. His mouth is moving – the words can't reach Sherlock. He's not addressing him. He's addressing _her_. And slowly, cautiously, he draws a tiny box from his pocket, and opens it on a thin, golden ring. Sherlock's heart has stopped. He can't move anymore. She takes the ring while tears of joy run down her rosy cheeks. John proposed. John proposed to a woman. John – John has forgotten him.

Then he sees it. The obvious, that, for once in his life, he had missed. The broken man that he had left behind, three years ago. Broken, no ; destroyed. Wrecked. He left him an empty body, barely living anymore, barely feeling anything else than the deafening gape inside of him. And he had rebuilt himself. He had learned to live again. To master the gape and reduce it to relative silence. To love again. He would always be that man, now, the broken one – but if Sherlock stepped up now, if he stepped up ever – it would all come back, this howling hole somewhere in his chest opened wide and never shutting up again. John had forgiven Sherlock. But he was hurt beyond repair. And he had found a way to stay alive – that woman, she didn't made him feel alive and complete the way Sherlock used to. But she made him survive. She was here, when Sherlock was not. The ring on Sherlock's finger was burning again on his skin. The words echoed in his head, sharp like knives all over his body. _If you'll be waiting_. If...

Of course he didn't wait. He didn't know, all this time, that he had something to wait for.

* * *

_ John sat on his bed. He had taken a huge step, today. He had moved on with his life. His whole life. Assuring his psychiatrist he was okay with it, and it didn't hurt so much anymore. Proposing to a woman he did love ; but never the true, burning, destructive love he had felt for Sherlock. Not the love that you can qualify as True Love. Just love. He knew he could never get any better. He could never have Sherlock back. Sherlock was dead ; more than ever. Dead. It all came back all of a sudden, all the memories, violent as a storm in his head, and he cowered to escape the pain. All the beautiful memories, the ones that had been worth living ; and then the Fall ; and it all ended up in a scream. Once again, he had screamed his name. John Watson was broken, alone, and would never get his life back again. But he could never deny it. Even knowing how it all ended. Every single second with Sherlock had been worth living. The name made him shiver. Between his tears, he had the courage to raise his voice, and address the only man he had ever loved, the one who could never hear him._

_ "Sherlock." The sole word seemed to break his voice. With a trembling hand he took his silver ring away from his fnger and to his mouth and pressed it against his lips. "I love you." his broken voice whispered. "I always will." He put the ring in a little silver box, and closed it. His hands rested on the velvet, his fingers caressing it gently, tenderly ; and, a single tear rolling down his cheek, he breathed : "Goodbye, Sherlock."_


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's note : Hello world ! (Or the few people that read my fic anyway ; but "world" sounded better.) Someone asked if I could do another chapter because John just couldn't stop waiting like that and... I swear to god, I thought I'd give it a try, but... I kinda got lost on the way to doing that and this... well it kinda sorta happened and it's definitely not the happy ending you wished for. And I'm very sorry. But I did want to do this. So it's also my fault. Anyway, I hope you still like it._

_(Also, since I don't know how to just skip a line in here - yes, I'm that brilliant - I separated the paragraphs of the poem with those big lines I usually use to separate different moments of a story. Just so it's clearer when you read it.)_

* * *

_Goodbye to the One I once knew : Last Letter to John Watson - A poem by Sherlock Holmes. (Unsent letter n°1221)_

* * *

_I once was a broken boy_

_Watching as others destroyed_

_The very life I was given_

* * *

_I once was a lonely man_

_Hiding behind a wall of pride_

_My human heart forgotten_

* * *

_Then I met you, soul in pain_

_Trying to ignore life is vain_

_Your body cried, and you stood still_

_Defying fate with all your will_

* * *

_You took my heart within your hands_

_Healing without even trying_

_You made me a human again_

_When this part of me was dying_

* * *

_I didn't love you for the things you said_

_Nor for the ones you didn't_

_I loved you for the way you saw_

_What anyone else still doesn't know_

* * *

_Broken boy, I am once more_

_Destroyed deeper than ever before_

_It's all still here, the life I once new_

_Lost under the pain of losing you_

* * *

_You made me angel from demon_

_Every single bit of you, John_

_Is all it takes_

* * *

_I once said heroes don't exist_

_You can add that to the list_

_Of my mistakes._


End file.
